


Sleep Now (And Dream of the Ones Who Came Before)

by james



Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-18
Updated: 2010-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 13:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/pseuds/james
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot doesn't sleep much.  This is what he does instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep Now (And Dream of the Ones Who Came Before)

_Sometimes Eliot wishes he could sleep._

~~~

When Eliot headed to the office it was nearly one a.m. After only three months of working with a team he still got the willies over the idea of having an 'office;' sometimes he wanted to pause at the door and check to see if it was real, or if there were cameras in the corners and some old buddies were waiting inside to yell 'Gotcha!'

Eliot had to admit he didn't really have old buddies who would do such a thing to him, even if they had any clue where to find him. Though if this thing with the office lasted, then pretty soon his reputation would catch up with him. People would know he'd settled down, got himself a real -- as it were -- job.

Hell, he even had an apartment with a year lease that he actually lived in.

It was sort of nice, on the one hand, being able to sleep in the same bed for more than a week. Nicer still to be able to stock a kitchen with the things he wanted, pots and pans and equipment worth having and know he'd be able to _use_ them. It was also nice to plant a few things on his balcony and expect to be there when they were grown.

But it was strange, settling down and staying in one spot and Eliot honestly didn't know how long it was going to last. The jobs were good and working with a team was weirder than weird, but as far as that went he was fairly sure he liked them and didn't mind so much that he was growing to like working with them.

Parker might be twenty pounds of crazy, but she was fun, and easy to hang with -- figuratively, because there was no way in hell he was letting her strap him into a harness. She made him laugh and she and Hardison were like being home again, brothers and sisters giving each other grief until someone sent them outside to shovel the stalls until they were too worn out to harass anybody.

Hardison was like the annoying little brother who you knew would _never_ grow out of being an awkward dork who stammered and spilled things when he tried to talk to girls. You couldn't help but be impressed when he did the shit he was good at, but at the same time, like any good brother, you'd never let him catch on that you were proud.

Working with Sophie was simply a relief. A professional who did her job, although, honestly, they were all damn good at their jobs and every one of them was reliable. But there was something about working with Sophie that just made Eliot relax, knowing that whatever was in her hands would get taken care of. He didn't have to watch her back to make sure something unexpected wasn't creeping up on her because if there was, she could handle it.

Nate...Nate was the problem that Eliot didn't think he was going to solve. He wasn't stupid, nor blind, and he could see perfectly well that Nate wasn't coping with his grief and guilt. Eliot knew damn well he had nothing to offer to make it any better. All he could do was stick with him, try to stop Nate before he did anything monumentally suicidal, and hope that sooner or later Nate would get sick of his own shit and crawl out of it.

Besides, he knew perfectly well that when Nate did lift his head up and look around, it was gonna be Sophie he saw.

Eliot shoved his thoughts to the back of his mind as he let himself into their offices. It felt unnatural to be using a key from his own key-ring; Parker wouldn't use the one Hardison gave her, but kept coming and going by way of the window, or using a mold of Sophie's key. Which was exactly the same as her own, Eliot had pointed out, but Parker had just looked at him like _he_ was the crazy one and kept breaking into her own office.

Sometimes, when nobody was around, he was tempted to break in himself, rather than use his key. Not tonight, though; it was late and he was tired and he just wanted to get back home. He let himself inside and two steps in he knew he wasn't alone. Eliot froze and listened, then realized the sound he was hearing was the muffled noise of gun-fire.

Fake gun-fire. Along with fake, digitalized explosions, and then one extraordinarily geeky geek shouting, "Hell, yes! Take that, you ork-fuckers!"

Eliot crept into the conference room to find Hardison sitting at the table and facing the wall, a huge picture of a cartoon game displayed across the screens. He smirked and snuck up behind Hardison, waited a moment until Hardison was about to make his next move, then poked him in the back of the neck.

Hardison screeched like a little girl, leaping up and whirling around, hand swinging through the air in a kung-fu movie karate chop. Eliot didn't even bother blocking it.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Hardison shouted at him.

"Who's winning?" Eliot asked, nodding at the screen where Hardison had apparently failed to pause his game-play. Something hit the figure in the middle of the screen and there was a plopping noise; Hardison whirled back around and grabbed at his keyboard, typing madly.

"Oh, dammit, no, no! Don't.. you fucking killed me? You did NOT just--" He whirled on Eliot, glaring furiously. "You had better be here to tell me the building is on fire and Godzilla is about to pulverize us and the I.R.S is outside with a copy of the real books."

Eliot gave him an innocent look. "Is this a bad time?"

"I hate you. I am going to...to...do something really awful and mean just as soon as I think of something bad enough."

Eliot smirked. "I'll look forward to it. Don't you play this at home?"

"My upstairs neighbor is redecorating; something about her husband going to jail for tax fraud. Everything smells like paint."

Eliot just nodded in sympathy.

"So are we meeting for our next job?" Hardison stopped and looked at his watch, blinked and looked again. "It's the middle of the night. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Needed something," Eliot told him.

Hardison stared at him for a moment, then asked leadingly, "At one a.m.? You "needed" something? Other than giving me a heart-attack and making me go back to the cemetery _again_ and get resurrected and you better hope I make it back to my body on time is all I'm saying."

"I have no idea what you just said," Eliot told him. "I came by because I left a book here."

Another long stare, then, "A book? You left a book, so you came over for it at one in the morning?"

"I finished the ones I've got at home." Eliot gave him another half-shrug. "Suppose I could have just broken into a bookstore, but the office was closer. Well, Fandango's Books is closer, but their selection is crap."

"You came by at one a.m. for a book?" Hardison looked around like now _he_ was the one wondering if he was on candid camera. "I don't know whether to be surprised you can read, or ask if this is a dirty book and can I borrow it next?"

"It's the Cryptonomicon," Eliot told him. "You'd like it, it's got math in it. And gold treasure."

Hardison just continued looking at him like Eliot had just turned into a Martian, so Eliot clapped him on the shoulder, not bothering to pull his punch more than a little and went to collect his book. He ignored Hardison's girly cry of pain followed by more threats to do horrible things like get Eliot's email address on every spammer's list in the world and hand out his cell phone number to every telemarketing firm he could find.

He grinned and shook his head, threats already forgotten as he found the book on the shelf by the window. He'd started it a few days ago, figured he'd finish it up in a couple more nights. He'd been meaning to head to the Book Bin for a week now, trade in the ones he was done with and get a pile more. But the jobs had kept them busy lately and it had just been bad luck he'd found himself home with no new books to read and nothing on tv he felt like watching. Middle of the night was no time to be checking on plants, and the few pots he had didn't take all that much care anyhow.

He thought about getting a bigger place, outfitted with an indoor greenhouse with grow lights and a sprinkler system. Might give him more to do, although again, plants slept at night, even if he didn't.

He took the book with him, heard the sounds of Hardison's game resuming, and let himself back out of the office with his key. Luckily for him he wasn't so desperate for ways to occupy his time that he was about to ask Hardison to teach him to play World of Warcraft.

~~~

"You clean up well," Eliot told him once the others had gone, leaving them alone -- alone as they could get sitting in a booth in the bar. Nate looked better than he had in a long time. Anyone could see the last six months had done him good, shaken him out of his downward spiral and given him something to focus on. Eliot didn't fool himself that getting the team back together wasn't helping as much as anything. They'd already worked a handful of jobs, falling easily into the same rhythms they'd had before.

Nate just smiled at him, saying nothing. Eliot let himself get lost for just a second before leaning back, pulling himself mentally away. "We got any jobs lined up this week?"

It wasn't what he actually cared about, but it was the first thing to come to mind. His own time away from the team, away from Nate, hadn't helped him any. He'd been surprised at the strength of his attraction for the other man; time and miles of distance hadn't made his feelings fade. Nameless bodies in back rooms and filthy motel rooms hadn't dimmed a thing, taking job after job hadn't worked; spending two months in Pakistan lending a helping hand to a small team of Rangers hadn't taken his mind off Nate.

Nearly getting caught by his former CO had done quite a bit to distract him from his problems back home, but Eliot had managed to escape and headed back to the States, only letting himself make any attempt to contact any of the team when Sophie had sent him the invitation to her play.

Now he was sitting across a table from Nate in McRory's, nursing a beer and watching Nate drink his coffee. He wondered if he should have ordered something else to drink to be polite, but realized that if Nate wanted to avoid temptation he wouldn't be sitting in -- or living above -- a bar.

"Nothing on the radar at the moment," Nate said. "Why? You got something personal lined up?"

Eliot gave him a grin. "Would you want the details if I did?"

"You know I'd have to testify," Nate told him. "And I would, gladly."

"If I were dumb enough to get caught, I'd testify against _myself_."

Nate laughed and Eliot found himself wanting to stare -- so damn easy, and he had to mentally smack himself again. He kept sneeking looks anyhow, just a little, as Nate asked, "You going to Paris with the Parker and Sophie? I think they're gonna steal the Eiffel Tower."

"Nah. I'm thinking of heading up to Quebec. Got a cabin up there on Lac-Kénogami. Nice, quiet. Do a little fishing."

"Sounds nice," Nate agreed, nodding a little and eyes growing distant as he apparently tried to picture it in his head.

"Wanna come along?" The words slipped out of his mouth before he realized he was saying them out loud. Then he wanted to kick himself, hard, probably in the nuts so he wouldn't be able to feel a thing for a month. Like he needed to spend a week in a one room cabin, alone with Nate Ford, the man he wanted to strip down naked and do a dozen filthy things with.

Who was looking surprised, and pleased. "Really? I'd love to."

Eliot forced himself to smile back. Maybe he could get Parker to drop him off a building and break a few bones. Then he wouldn't be able to go anywhere. Instead he said, "Planning to leave day after tomorrow, drive up. They have an airport at Chicoutimi but it's a little scary." When Nate raised his eyebrows in surprise, Eliot lowered his voice and said, "The woman who runs the check-in counter keeps trying to set me up with her daughter." Eliot grinned, wondering who the hell had taken over his brain and why it had turned against him.

Nate laughed, and looked happy with the idea of going with him, and that was something Eliot just couldn't regret. He told himself he'd done worse, like sit through one of Sophie's plays. Maybe if he packed along some ice and wore it 24/7 in his underwear, he'd survive.

~~~

"You gonna be all right there?" Eliot asked, standing near the tiny bed, set against the wall opposite the couch and small kitchenette. Beyond the kitchenette was the door to the bathroom; the small cabin was tidy, if dusty. Eliot didn't leave much stuff in-between stays, and didn't trust anyone to come in a clean the place up.

Wasn't like he couldn't live with a little dirt. But there wasn't any furniture beyond the bed, couch, and small table with only one chair. The problem that presented hadn't occurred to Eliot until he'd walked into the cabin.

Nate had argued with him over sleeping on the couch, judging rather accurately that the mattress on the bed didn't look much more comfortable than the couch. They'd shoved the table over to the couch at dinnertime, and Nate hadn't said a thing about why Eliot had invited him to what was clearly a one-man cabin. But despite the inconveniences he seemed perfectly content with the impromptu vacation, and the small smile that had appeared as they'd driven out of Boston hadn't ever quite disappeared.

The drive up had been a good one. Neither of them talked much, just enjoying the drive. They'd switched off, taking turns driving and navigating and arguing over bad shortcuts. They'd finally made it right around dinner time; Eliot had been forced to make do with the canned stuff he'd left from last time. Normally he didn't mind, going to the store when he had the chance and supplementing his meals with whatever he caught.

But it grated, serving Nate a bowl of tinned beans and chili, knowing perfectly well he could have whipped up something better.

Halfway through dinner it smacked him in the face why it bothered him, and knowing that he was hoping to impress Nate had sent him outside to walk the small clearing, pretending to be checking for God knew what. Nate didn't said a word about Eliot's strange behavior, and finally it had grown late enough for them to turn in, preparing to wake up early to head down to the lake.

"You know, it's all right if you want the bed," Eliot continued the argument from earlier. "I don't sleep much."

"Good night, Eliot," Nate said, firmly. He lay down on the couch and pulled up a blanket, rolling onto his side almost immediately. Eliot watched him for a long moment, before dragging himself away and crawling into the bed.

He lay there for a couple hours, staring at the ceiling and listening to the nocturnal animals outside. He could hear Nate's soft breathing, heard the moment when Nate fell soundly asleep. He wished he could join him-- Eliot laughed at himself, at his own pathetic, hopeful thoughts. What he wouldn't give to crawl onto the couch, lay himself down on top of Nate and not get kicked onto the floor.

He tried not to think about what it would be like to kiss him, what Nate would taste like. If he was the type to grab and squeeze hard, or if his hands would be light and gentle. Eliot knew he was in danger of needing to run down to the lake in the middle of the night and jump in, let the cold water clear his brain and get his blood back where it belonged.

That would be a bit tricky to explain, but it was better than waking Nate up with Eliot moaning his name out loud and sporting a hard-on the likes of which he'd never be able to hide. Finally, his eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.

~~~

"Eliot. _Eliot._"

He opened his eyes, quickly taking in the dark interior of a small log cabin. _The lake,_ he told himself, even as he realized he'd been hearing Nate saying his name. Memory flashed and he looked over to find Nate nearby, just out of Eliot's reach. He looked around again, saw that he was sitting up in the bed, the blankets tangled around his legs.

"Was I screaming?" he asked, though the fading echos of memory didn't seem to be loud ones. Silence instead, filled with fire and a slow, sinking sensation. Something grabbing at his ankles and-- Eliot shook his head, hard.

"Not so much," Nate said. "Just enough to wake me up and I thought...."

"Didn't mean to wake you," Eliot apologized, swinging his legs around, pulling his feet free of the blanket and setting them onto the cold wooden floor. Sleep was done for the night; he could go outside and count stars until dawn.

"From the sound of it, seemed like I ought to wake you," Nate said quietly.

"I'm used to it."

Nate was looking at him, however, eyes hard to see in the darkness but there was something about his demeanor, in the easy way he stood despite the clear awareness of staying out of Eliot's reach, and not trying to wake him by touching him.

Eliot looked at him, suddenly suspicious. "What was I saying?" There were hundreds of things he might have been dreaming, any number of things he could have said in his sleep to worry Nate.

"Seemed like you were caught in a bad dream," was all he said, and his voice was soft, no hint of accusation or question.

Eliot sighed, then nodded. His heart was already slowing down the last of his nightmare draining away.

"You gonna be able to get back to sleep?" Nate asked, and Eliot laughed.

"I'm good. Told you, I don't sleep much." He stood up, letting the sheets fall to the floor as he went over to where he'd left his jeans draped over a chair. "You're welcome to the bed. I'm gonna be outside." He pulled his jeans on in the dark, reaching unerringly in the dark for his shirt.

"Do you want company?" came the unexpected question.

Eliot looked at him, and for just one second he could hear himself saying yes. Asking if Nate would go with him, ask him into bed with him to distract him from dreaming -- or sleeping -- again. Then he shook his head, pulling on his shirt then sitting down in the chair to drag on his boots. "You get some sleep. I'll keep the bears away."

There was a pause, then in an entirely different tone, Nate asked, "Bears?"

Eliot just grinned. Grabbing his coat, he turned and walked out of the cabin and into the cold night. The sky was clear, stars shining overhead the clearing. Eliot shoved his hands into his pockets, not moving further away until he heard Nate, inside, walking back to the couch and lying down.

Then he buttoned up his coat and turned towards the well-worn path towards the lake.

~~~

By nine the next morning they'd caught seven fish and thrown back a half dozen more. Back at the cabin Eliot set about showing Nate how to clean them, teasing Nate about being a city boy over his squeamishness at gutting them. Four ended up in the freezer, the other three he made for lunch with leftovers saved for dinner. Afterwards Eliot had to admit he'd out-done himself with his cooking. He'd run into town and bought some groceries, only slightly handicapped by the small selection available by the fact the store's owner liked him.

Eliot made her cakes and cheesecakes whenever he was in town, one for her and a few for her to sell slices of. That meant when he showed up needing groceries, there were always a few folks willing to spare a half dozen eggs or fresh vegetables from their gardens, or even packages of frozen deer meat from the season before.

He made a note to collect what he needed the next day and spend the time in the cabin's small kitchen. Nate could look out for himself, more fishing or maybe heading in to town. Most of the tourists went to Lac St Jean to the northwest, but the local towns were big enough that Nate could find something to do so he wouldn't get bored.

After a dinner of leftover fish and rosemary potatoes, Nate and Eliot retired outside, Nate on the porch and Eliot sprawled on the grass, looking up at the darkening sky. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so relaxed in the company of another person.

It worried him. He had no business letting his feelings for Nate get out of hand, but it was easy enough to let him be a friend, teammates who worked well together and trusted each other. He knew better than to lose sight of the fact it could end one day, each of them going their separate ways for good. And he knew perfectly Nate didn't have any interest in him that way -- so double the reason not to indulge in pipedreams and accept what he had.

What he had was pretty good. They'd been talking about the Jets off and on all day, and whether the upcoming season would be a good one for them. Eliot didn't really care, but Nate had latched onto the team a year ago and whenever Eliot tried to steer him towards a _real_ team like the Cowboys, Nate just waved his hand in disinterest. Eliot had enjoyed harassing Nate all day about it, but finally he'd been drawn into the discussion since the Jets had, after all, drafted Mikey Winters out of Texas and he was proving to be one of the best defensive linebackers Eliot had seen in awhile.

The conversation had dwindled as the sunlight faded, Eliot's hands behind his head and only just remembering the bottle of beer resting against his leg. He reached down for a sip, trying to drink it without sitting up or pouring it over his face.

After a moment of consideration, he heard Nate laughing.

"You want a straw? Or you think you should actually sit up?"

"Man, I'm on vacation. I don't have to sit up for four more days if I don't want to." He smiled, liking the way Nate was leaning back against the doorway of his cabin, hands on his knees and still laughing at him. He'd done this, he told himself. Even if he couldn't have what he wanted, he had done at least this. Made Nate happy, and damned if he wasn't _ever_ going to say such a thing out loud. Hardison would be justified in calling him a sixteen year old girl and braiding his hair, even tying it up in ribbons.

He looked at his beer again and took a chance; tilting the bottle quickly, he managed to get a stream pouring out, right into his mouth.

The back of his throat, actually, and as he choked, Eliot rolled over and started coughing up beer. From the sound of it, Nate had fallen off the edge of the porch laughing so hard. Eliot coughed up more beer, spitting it on the ground -- a sad waste of good beer. He flipped Nate the bird as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Nate's laughter sharpened and it sounded like Nate was about to choke, himself. Eliot glared back at him; Nate had fallen off the porch after all, lying on his side and propped up on one hand laughing until he was red in the face.

Eliot coughed again, bringing up a bit more of the inhaled liquid, and tried glaring at Nate who wasn't even looking at him. He felt his mouth twitch in contagious laughter, but controlled it fiercely.

Even if it was a bit stupidly funny.

He tried to think of something to say, but watching Nate laugh... The man's stomach muscles were gonna hurt, and soon enough he was gonna stop breathing. He was gorgeous, and Eliot just let himself stare.

Maybe not such a waste of beer, after all.

~~~

The second night went much like the first; Eliot stayed awake long after Nate fell asleep, then woke to find Nate standing nearby saying his name. Eliot then spent the rest of the night outside, sitting on the porch and staring out at nothing; Nate had stood behind him just inside the doorway for a few minutes before Eliot had growled him away.

They didn't mention it the next day and their third evening at the cabin Nate pulled out a pack of cards he'd brought back from town and settled in at the small table. Eliot didn't call him on it; he let Nate stay up trying to beat him at poker until the other man could barely hold his eyes open. Eliot had simply nudged Nate's shoulder and he fell sideways onto the couch, sleepily muttering that he'd take a short nap then he'd be ready for the next hand.

Eliot debated returning the money he'd won. On the first hand he'd won it fair and square, but on the other, if he kept it they might eventually be playing for toothpicks. It was that or tell Nate he had the worst tell he'd ever seen other than Hardison. He compromised by leaving the bills on the table where Nate could reclaim them if he wanted and headed over to the bed.

He was still losing the argument of Nate swapping him for the couch, despite the proof that Eliot didn't use the bed for more than a couple of hours. Even after Eliot was awake and outside for the rest of the night, Nate returned to the couch, leaving the bed for Eliot. As if he'd want it.

Seemed ridiculous to him, but Nate argued like it mattered, so Eliot figured he might as well stop worrying about it. Hell, for all he knew the couch _was_ more comfortable than the bed and Nate was better off.

As he settled on the bed, he told himself he was spending too much time thinking about it. He'd come out here to relax and unwind, and eat fresh fish and watch the stars. He'd thought having Nate along would distract him -- and he did, somewhat, but mostly because it was turning out to be really comfortable having him there. They both knew when conversation wasn't necessary, both enjoyed sitting at the lake not catching a damn thing for hours, and both completely disagreed about allowing shootouts to decide professional hockey games which gave them something to argue about for hours at a time.

And it was nice to look over and see Nate looking relaxed and happy. Eliot was careful not to indulge himself, much as he wanted to stare sometimes. But despite the fact the close proximity was driving him crazy, he had to admit the shared vacation might have been a good idea.

Eliot turned his head towards the couch, just able to make out the rise and fall of Nate's outline. He couldn't make out the other man's face, which meant Nate wouldn't be able to see Eliot watching him. He told himself it was going to be enough. Nate could no longer claim they weren't friends, no matter what else Eliot might want.

He closed his eyes and let himself start to drift before finally falling asleep.

~~~

Eliot was staring into the fridge, wondering what to do about supper. Fish, obviously, but did he want to make breaded and baked, or dig out the grill? He heard Nate come back into the cabin and turned around, intending to ask what he preferred. The worried look on Nate's face made him forget dinner entirely and ask, "What's wrong?"

Nate half-shrugged, letting him know it wasn't something serious. He'd been outside talking to Sophie on his cell, Eliot guessed that if someone had been thrown in jail somewhere the others had a handle on it or Nate would be halfway to packing already.

"She just...pointed out I only have two real options. And I agree with her, but that doesn't make things easier." Nate never looked at Eliot as he spoke, jittery and tense.

"Options for what?"

Nate didn't look up, fiddling with his phone before setting it on the table, then moving his hands as if he couldn't decide what to do with them. Whatever relaxation Nate had achieved in the last four days, it was clearly gone.

Eliot considered letting it drop, focus on supper and let the other man deal with his own problems. Except Nate was moving closer, still nervous and frowning, hands twitching.

"I've been waiting," Nate finally said. "I mean, you invited me up here and I thought-- Sophie says I either got it wrong, or you've got worse cold feet than I do."

Eliot barely had time to blink, then Nate had stepped up to him and leaned forward to kiss him.

He felt his brain stutter to a halt. Nate was kissing him, and it was seconds later that Eliot realized he wasn't even kissing back, but it was too late. Nate jerked away, apology already forming in his expression.

So Eliot grabbed his shirt and yanked him back into place, concentrating on making up for truly shameful reflexes. He felt Nate freeze for just a second -- exactly like he himself had, and he might have bothered to laugh at Nate about it except he was busy. He pushed his lips against Nate's until he relaxed, apparently figuring out this wasn't a sneaky way Eliot was going to kill him. Nate's hand came up to his neck, holding him tight in exactly the way to make Eliot's muscles instinctively tense; half a second away from throwing Nate to the floor and break a few bones.

Throwing him to the floor didn't sound all bad, actually, and Eliot grabbed onto Nate's waist, ready to make his move, when Nate broke the kiss. Eliot just raised an eyebrow at him and Nate smiled, shyly.

"So, I'm not wrong?"

"Have you ever been wrong?" Eliot growled, knowing it wasn't nearly true, and there were spectacular ways in the past in which Nate had been very wrong. But Eliot kissed him again, let Nate feel his arousal, pressed up tight against his hip.

When the kiss was broken again, Nate said, "Sophie said if you killed me, they'd sic Parker on you until you felt bad about it."

"For insulting my delicate male ego by kissing me?" Eliot grinned, then froze. "Wait. Are you saying the entire team knows why we're up here?"

"Well, Sophie and Parker...which means they probably told Hardison. Were you planning on keeping this a secret?" Nate was looking worried again, and confused.

But Eliot shook his head. "Never planned on kissing you. Didn't think that far ahead." He punctuated his words with another kiss, then decided it was better than trying to talk. Nate apparently agreed with him, and conversation -- and supper -- was shoved aside for better things.

 

Later, when Eliot came awake, his heart was pounding and a shout was buried in the back of his throat. Arms and legs were holding him, not down, not trapped, but pressed against him close. The bed was too narrow, he thought, and they'd laughed about it as they'd tumbled onto the bed. Neither had seen any need for them to separate, Nate falling asleep on his side between the wall and Eliot. Eliot had fallen asleep quickly, which hadn't really surprised him. He trusted his reflexes, knew he'd remember he was sharing a bed; he did it rarely enough but even when his nightmares woke him he'd never taken them out on his bed-partner.

He found Nate watching him; he could feel Nate holding himself carefully still so as not to startle him. Eliot let his head fall onto Nate's shoulder, taking a deep breath before shoving himself up out of bed.

"Do you want--" Nate began.

"I'll be outside," Eliot told him, knowing that Nate wanted to somehow make this better. He didn't look back as he stepped into his jeans and boots, and grabbed his coat, leaving his shirt lying somewhere in the mess of clothes on the floor.

~~~

Eliot woke Nate the next morning by crawling into the bed, early enough to head down to the lake but with no actual intention of leaving the cabin or even putting clothes on. Nate didn't argue in the slightest, and they spent the rest of the day making up for the first four days of lost time.

The following day it was back to Boston, and Eliot felt pleasantly worn out and loose-limbed. While Nate drove, Eliot sprawled against the passenger side door and let himself look as much as he pleased. He especially liked the way the red line of Nate's blush worked its way up his cheek as Eliot stared at him.

Nate just glanced over, rolling his eyes in mock-exasperation. Eliot laughed at him, letting his head rest against the window; the vibrations from the wheels on pavement thrummed into his skull. It was almost enough to lull him to sleep; once or twice Eliot found his eyes slipping closed before he jerked himself awake again. When Nate switched on the radio, tuning it to classical radio, Eliot found himself closing his eyes again.

When he opened them, he'd been asleep for an hour and they were nearing the city limits. He glanced over at Nate, and saw a slight but extremely pleased smile on his face.

the end


End file.
